Don't worry
by Bluebrick
Summary: Phil thought Dan was happy. Little did he know his best friend was self harming and anorexic right under his nose, Possible triggers- self harm/ eating disorder/ suicidal thoughts. Phanfiction.
1. I'm fine

This is my first fanfiction for youtube and I'm quite nervous as it has some personal things in it. Oh well. Reviews are always lovely to read.

WARNINGS- self harm, eating disorder. MAY BE TRIGGERING. I am in no way promoting self harm nor eating disorders, trust me they're not a good idea. PM me if you want to talk about any of the above problems.

I am also in know way claiming that Dan has any of these problems.

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Even though it was light. It was dark. Even though it was warm. It was cold. I once had a bright fire burning inside of me, a flame of happiness, love and hope but that fire burned out and overtime has turned to black ash, that has stuck and infected my whole body. I am black in the inside and red on the outside. I am not _beautiful_.

Phil smiles at me across our bar counter 'eat up, it's your favourite!' He whines and I scoop up a few spoonfuls and let it sickeningly slide down my throat. 'My favourite' was Phil's stew, not only was it delicious but it was his. But it was my favourite. _Was_. Feeling the calories gather in my stomach sent guilt to my brain and an ache in my gut. I didn't know what happened to me to let me get this way.

It started when I seem a comment on youtube about me being 'fat'. I really didn't care and I brushed it off and let it slide, but when I was handed the large sized youtube jumper at vidcon, compared to the rest of the foursome who were handed mediums and smalls, I couldn't have felt more sickened in myself. That night, I arrived in my hotel room and peeled off my clothes and skinny jeans, a gathering of fat around my stomach had appeared and I could see another chin appearing around my neck. I was disgusting. So now I was dieting. _Extremely_ dieting.

I ate 1000 calories maximum a day at first, yet no weight shed and I was getting more depressed by the day looking at Phil's perfect body and comparing it to my inadequate form. Three months later and it had been a day since I'd last eaten. The stew was burning in my stomach and I could have broken down in guilt and shame. But Phil same old happy Phil was sitting across from me in our flat scoffing it down, a mile a minute. And what I would give to be skinny like Phil. _Oh god._

I excused myself from the table on 'needing to pee' and made my way to the bathroom. I've never been bulimic before, even that at the moment was a step to far for me but it was gnawing on my mind. I was off to the bathroom to do something different but not entirely.

Shaking, I opened the cupboard of my bathroom cabinet, my breath steaming on the mirror. I pulled out my lucky shrapnel, my razor blade. I truly felt like shit. It was like I was inadequate for life and there would always be someone better than myself. There was always someone better looking, funnier, kinder, smarter, thinner. And the constant thing climbing in to my skull was that if maybe I couldn't be the smartest or the funniest of my group, maybe I could be the thinnest. But I was still fat and my stomach still rolled over my trousers.

Self harm was always something I was completely against but when you're feeling so down and so pissed and like you will never be good enough for anyone else in the world, you wonder. If people get such a kick off of hurting me, will I get a kick off of hurting myself? And the first time I pressed the blade in was when I was in the shower. I was fifteen years old. I was pissed off, I was lonely, I was the only single one of my friends, I never fit in and I had countless arguments with my parents and it was just so hard to keep everyone happy. I stole one of my mum's razors for shaving he legs, I didn't even care whether it was fresh or dirty. I took a breath and sliced it across my wrist. It nipped a little but not enough, I left four more gashes. Another three on my arm and one on my leg. They were small and blood only trickled from the side but I felt relieved, renewed even. And as I sobbed and breathed whimpering breaths, I knew this certainly would _never_ be my last time. It was the start of an addiction. And here I was, seven years later with a razor in between my fingers. My method was always I would wait for one scar to fade before I added another one. And it worked, it was the scars, the symbols of my self hatred that I loved. That I _craved_. But three months ago, when my weight problems started, the scars and the depth increased, until I didn't have only two or three scars on my wrist, hidden by my festival bracelets. I now had way over twenty gashes of different size and shape. Some digging deeper than the others. And now I didn't care about the long term affect of my scars. I was fat and forever alone anyway. As I lifted my shiny friend I rolled up my sleeve, and pressed it towards my wrist. My breathing slowed as I pushed it inside and the blood drowned my pale skin. I smile twistingly and sickly. Because this was what it was. Twisted and sick but a constant satisfaction came from releasing my stress and ruining something which didn't deserve to be good or happy. My skin was vile. Because it was my skin. And growing up I realised that out of everyone in the world, I'm lowest of the fortunate food chain being myself. Years of bullying and taunting taught me this and I was thankful I hadn't been led on to believe something else. That I was worth something.

As another three scars are added and the volume of blood has increase to dripping on to the floor, I jump in fright as Phil chaps lightly on the door.

'Dan', he says. Knocking again.

I stutter a reply, as I quickly hide my kit.

'Are you okay? You've been in there for a quite a while?' He says, a slightly worried edge to his voice. I gaze in to the mirror and pinch the fat around my stomach.

'I'm fine', I reply. 'Don't worry'.


	2. It's nothing, right?

**Phil's POV**

I could hear Dan fumbling with the lock and the presence of trembling fingers and ragged breathes was very much evident. The door opened and his face appeared around the wooden frame.

"What's up?", A fake smile was plastered across his jaw and it ever so slightly eased at his eyes.

"You were in there for a while. Dinner's getting cold", I pulled a friendly smile. I didn't know what was wrong with him but I could tell he wasn't just _right_.

"Yeah" he nodded. "I've had enough. Can you bin it for me?"

"But Daaaan", I drawled. "I spent forever making that. You didn't eat any of it!" I was whining, I know but I made it just for him and he looked so stressed lately that I thought his favourite dinner along with a bag of maltesers would do the trick.

"Phil", he giggled, I could see his beautiful dimples emerge in his face, mesmerising my mind and reducing my annoyance. "The truth is I ate already. When you were out with Chris I had a tesco pizza."

"You could have just told me", I smiled and shoved him playfully. "You were just eating the stew to please me?", I asked.

Dan nodded. He was so freaking adorable.

"Why are you so..you-know shaky and off?", I asked curiously, thinking back to the fumbling lock and heavy breaths. He stuttered a little.

" I feel a little unwell after the pizza", his left hand rubbed over his stomach. Believable.

"Oh. Ok. Come on and I'll make you some hot milk", I grabbed his wrist to pull him along and he hissed.

"Dan? You ok?", I searched his eyes for signs of pain.

"I have a blister on my foot and it rubbed against my shoe", he pulled a grimace.

"Oh, come on then", I smiled softly.

**Dan's POV**

God he was beautiful.

God his smile was beautiful.

I wondered what I'd done in a past life to deserve him now. Maybe I was a Saint. Maybe I was Moses or Noah. But that would insinuate some sort of worth that definitely had dissolved now. I could relate everything to depression. I was relating Phil's smile to depression. God, my mind was a nuisance.

And now here I was getting offered milk. It was 1%fat but that 1% fat was still _48_ calories per 100mls and Phil would make me drink at least 250. That's at _least_ 120 calories. No _fucking_ way.

"I think the milk will make me feel worse", I sighed and pulled a long face. God. I was fucking _starving_.

"Are you sure?", he asked. I nodded in return.

"I'm gonna try and sleep now", I brushed past him with a 'goodnight' which he returned and I went to hibernate in my bedroom. I was always in here.

I stripped off my clothes and tried to refuse a glance in the mirror but the temptation was present. I pictured a slim tanned body, cause I felt I deserved that because starving yourself is freaking hard and unenjoyable. I was met with the inevitable instead. Fat.

It rolled round my hips and hugged at my stomach. It nestled on my thighs and butt and arms and ankles and hands and face and neck and chest and _everywhere_. It truly was everywhere. And it truly was disgusting. I wanted to sob but Phil would here me, so I resumed to my bed and stuffed my face in to the pillow and cried. That was the last thing I remembered before I fell asleep.

**Phil's POV**

I hope Dan's okay. His stomach must be pretty bad due to his contorted face and long smiles. Wait. What if its food poisoning?

"Dan?", I called. I was met with silence. I tried again but the same retuned. He must be asleep. I decided I'd do the ill fitted job myself.

I opened the bin, in search for the pizza wrapper which would reveal the expiry date to the pizza, it's usually chicken we eat and if he's eaten out of date chicken I'll probably have to take him to a+e. I pulled out the wrappers from the day, yet I never found the pizza one. Weird. There was no boxes on the counter and the recycling bin was empty. Also, Dan was a lazy ass yet the sink was completely clear of any dishes. Did he eat? Am I missing something?

I riffled through the rubbish again. There was definitely nothing. I sighed and rubbed my face. Was he lying? Was I just jumping to conclusions in thinking he had lied to me? What was the other option...there was no where else to hide pizza wrappers. But if he's lying, why is he lying? What reasons would he have to not eat? Was he out with a girl? Why was she a secret? Did he go out for lunch? He wasn't dieting. Was he? Dan didn't need to diet, he knew that for a fact, didn't he?

I knew I over thought everything but I switched off the distracting tv, which played eastenders mind numbing theme tune. I sat on the couch and nibbled at my finger nails, a trait of nervousness I guess. I'm sure it was nothing. Tomorrow morning I will make Dan a big fry up breakfast, that's bound to prove whether he's dieting or not...Right?

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Author's note: I'm going to start increasing the chapter size hopefully however it would be lovely to see some reviews as I'd love to know what you all think and where you want and hope the story will go. Thank you.


	3. My new friend

**Phil's POV**

The sleep I had was pretty much smooth. I had my master plan to test Dan's eating capabilities. Though, I 99% believed he was probably out with a girl or something; that was the reason he had lied about eating the non existent pizza. But there was this small 1%. This stupid _pointless_ 1% that believed Dan was on some sort of diet. Which as bizarre as it seemed, couldn't be ruled out until I tested the theory. And this morning that would be my plan.

My alarm bell sang it's 'marimba' tune at nine am. Early I know but I needed to go to the shops for bacon, sausages, potato scones and beans, which along with bread would be the ingredients to my puzzle solving fry up. I showered quickly and straightened my hair almost subconsciously. Sticking on my Pokémon top and black skinny jeans(obviously) and left for the shops, returning twenty minutes later to put on my significant breakfast.

**Dan's POV**

The sleep I had was pretty much restless. I was sure Phil has believed my excuses, of being full but there was something gnawing on my mind. Very little but _very_ present. Was Phil on to something? Did he know about my...diet. I was over thinking again and I knew it. Typical Dan, early in the morning or late at night I like to rethink my life in twenty minutes and drive myself in to an inevitable existential crises. Oh, to be _young_. I could hear Phil rattling about in the kitchen, making God knows what. God I was hungry. Maybe I deserved on orange today..but the amount of sugar they contain, though natural, still very much there. But I could taste something else on my buds and something stewed in to my nose. Could I smell _bacon_? Oh God no. I can resist can't I?

As if on queue, a wide eyed smiling Phil, with a hint of worry strewing behind his brows entered my room.

"Breakfast is severed!", he called, while annoyingly and somewhat cutely, he repeatedly turned my light switch on and off to wake me up. Little did he know its been along time since I've actually slept.

I know now Phil is suspicious. He always has cereal for breakfast, and if it's a fry he asks me to make it while he goes to the shops. It's just tradition. And the unusualness of Phil's persona is already saying enough to me. He's trying to see whether I'll eat. I don't want to worry him. I don't want to let him down. But the calories. The bacon will have 300 alone! No fucking way. But I need to eat it.. Unless...

No Dan. _No_.

_But_..

What if.

What _if_ I throw it up this _once_. That's not bulimia, is it? Just cause you drink vodka once doesn't make you an alcoholic, does it? No. Okay. I'll do it. This once.

"Dan! Hurry up! It's getting cold." I never realised I had zoned out but I got up quickly and ruffled my hair in the mirror and smiled. A sickly sweet smile. It made me sick. Not sick in the stomach. Sick in the head.

"Coming!", I called. I was laced in sweat from wearing my giraffe onesie overnight, constantly terrified incase Phil came in-like this morning-and noticed my scars. I dreaded nothing more than Phil finding out how fucking messed up I was. I could picture it now. Phil seeing my arms, the look of disgust in his eyes. The dropping of his once visible grin. His use of swear words he only says when he's _really_ angry. That sort of time. I imagined him asking me too leave. I know scars and stuff freaked him out. I'd freak him out. Because I'm a _freak_.

I entered the kitchen to see bacon simmering on my plate, with fat and been juice oozing over it. It looked fucking good. But fucking _fattening_... 'Better out than in I always say'. I gave Phil a soft smile before reluctantly sitting across from him.

"This is a..", I nibbled a slice of bacon and my stomach howled in appreciation, while my head swam with guilt. "A suprise", I masked my pain.

"We've not had one in a while", Phil grinned, grabbing a slice of toast, lathered in butter. Lightly salted, mind you. But still butter. "And I thought you deserved a treat."

My eyebrows furrowed.

"A treat?", I asked. "Why?"

"You just looked stressed", Phil gave a worrying smile then, looking across at me moving my beans around my plate, but never lifting my fork to my mouth. I quickly shoved a spoonful in my mouth, to prove or to lie that I was okay. Phil smiled a real smile then.

**Phil's POV**

He's okay. Oh thank God. He's shovelling those beans down his throat. So maybe he was out with someone.

"Where you out with a girl yesterday then?", I asked upfront. I wanted him to be honest with me. He looked confused.

"A girl?", Dan asked. I confirmed.

"Why would you think that?", he said amused.

"Well there's no pizza wrappers anywhere", I blurted out, I seemed over protective. "I thought the pizza you'd eaten could have been out of date, but when I went to check the wrapping, it wasn't there. Just be honest with me Dan! Were you out for dinner with a girl?", I tried to keep my voice light hearted.

"Em, yeah. Yeah I was. I met a girl called..Ana, the other day. We went out, just as friends though", he replied reluctantly, his eyes on his plate.

"There's no need to feel guilty!", I giggled softly. "I don't need to be your only friend Dan". He looked up and pulled a lopsided smile then, it looked almost sad.

"You're not", emotion was hidden deep behind his voice, but I couldn't miss it. I knew him better than he knew himself. His eyes were full of sadness and his skin looked ever so pale, ever so suddenly.

He returned to mindlessly wolfing down his fry, as if in a rush and whispered almost silently. So silent that I was surprised I caught it.

"You're not my only friend. I have Ana"

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I hope you all understand the Ana reference. If not, it is often what anorexic people refer to anorexia as. I am not stereotyping. Please please please review, it means so much to me!


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